


no regrets

by talesofsuspenses



Category: Marvel
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breaking Up & Making Up, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsuspenses/pseuds/talesofsuspenses
Summary: “We’re stuck in a closet in Camp Leigh in 1970, and you want to know if I can still come on just your cock?” Steve asks, he supposes that it was meant to be sarcastic, but it comes out far too fond for him to pretend that it was anything anywhere near that bitter.(aka Tony face-fucks Steve in a closet in the 70s, now with added Feelings (and a sad coda))





	1. no regrets

**Author's Note:**

> for eva, kait, cee, zuha and ishipallthings - all of whom convinced me to drop revising fot stevetony porn (except for z (i did do SOME homework))

“You got everything?” Steve murmurs into Tony’s ear as they turn into yet another corridor. 

“Yep, you?” Tony asks, just as quietly, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Steve looks far too good in military get-up for someone he’s meant to not be in love with.

Truth be told, he doubts that he ever really fell out of love with him, even when they fought, all through the Accords, Siberia, when he was never meant to know where he was, but he couldn’t stop himself from calling, because _damnit_ he loves him so much it hurts. 

He’s many things, but he’s not a cheater. Pepper had to have known that he was still in love with Steve when they were married, it was probably part of the reason why they, ultimately, hadn’t worked out. Despite everything and everyone, including Steve, being in favour of them. 

He’s still in love with Steve, he never stopped, he _knows_ that Steve still loves him - he’d never stopped looking at him the same way, he’d said as much, years ago, in a motel room lifetimes ago, when Tony’d been determined to never see Steve again _You have to know, Tony, I’ll love you if I see you everyday and I’ll love you if I never see you again. I’ll love you to the day I die._

That Tony, bitter and resentful, had called Steve a liar, because he’d wanted, so, so badly, for him to be a villain, a liar, because how could someone who’d betrayed him like that, love him as much as he claimed.

Tony’s become less ‘emotionally constipated’, as Nat would say, over the years, and he’s mostly gotten over it, and Steve Rogers never breaks a promise.

“Got it,” Steve confirms, with a tiny twist to his lips. 

Tony can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he’ll bet that they’re hard, greyer than the usual sky-blue. He always gets into the ‘Cap’ mindset on missions, gritted teeth, hard eyes, tiny smirk, razor-sharp tunnel vision on completing what’s at hand, God, it does incredible things to his libido. It’s a good thing he’s wearing the glasses, and the cap.  
The stupid little swoop of his hair makes contradicts everything he’d just thought, it makes him feel all the soft, gentle, emotions, that he swore he’d never associate with Steve Rogers ever again. But he’d never been the best at keeping resolutions.

It reminds him of tentatively learning about each other’s bodies and minds - information Tony’s never forgot, information that made Tony worry, all those years after Siberia, about what he was doing, _how_ he was doing, even when he should hate every single atom in his lab-crafted body. (Even though he always was, is, more than just a laboratory experiment, and he couldn’t hate him, Lord knows he’s tried.)

Stupid little swoopy blond hair.

Steve suddenly stills and flies a hand out to stop Tony as well, circling his long fingers around his wrist. He tilts his head to the side and bites his lip - listening.

Tony waits for a beat, watching him. He knows that his eyes are closed, behind those damn sunglasses.

“People are coming, five to seven, security,” he says, quietly, “they’re gonna search the building, we have to hide.”

Tony sweeps his eyes up and down the corridor - it’s completely plain and featureless, aside from a supply closet, a couple yards from them. He meets Steve’s eyes - or, well, looks at his sunglasses, although, they’re close enough that he can see through them, into his eyes. 

Steve flicks his eyes down to the same corridor and then back to Tony. _I guess we’re doing that._

They jog lightly down, and, to their luck, the closet’s unlocked. Steve opens the door and makes a little gesture to Tony, letting him go through first. He looks up and down the corridor one last time and then slips in, shutting the door behind him, unaware that a cloth had fallen from a shelf and is now lying in the corridor.

The supply closet is a lot smaller than they’d initially thought - about a meter in both directions, maybe a little more - and it’s crammed with mostly cleaning supplies, all on shelves. They end up pretty much chest-to-chest, breathing in tandem, staring into each other’s eyes. Almost. Steve’s baby blues are still hidden by those damn glasses. A crying shame, if you were to ask Tony.

They stay like that, breathing shallowly and looking at each other, barely millimetres apart, until Steve opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by someone outside.

“...damn Jim, always leaving the closets open, idiot boy.” 

The voice of, what seems, a grumpy janitor carries in from the corridor, muttering about a ‘Jim’, nearing closer and closer until they can hear the jangle of his keys. They both hold their breath, hearts beating out of their chest, as the janitor moves the handle about, opens the door, thankfully, thankfully, barely a couple inches, and kicks in a dirty red cloth. 

Then the janitor locks the door. 

“Are we…” Tony trails off, after they hear the janitor walk away, still curing Jim under his breath, looking forlornly at the lock. 

“Seems like it,” Steve sighs. He takes off the sunglasses and his cap, puts them on a shelf, and runs his hands through his hair, messing up the dumb little swoop. 

He looks at Tony for a beat, chest rising and falling fast, and bites his lip, _God, he’s irresistible_ , “What do we do now?”

They’re stuck in a closet together, the irony isn’t lost on Steve, for an indeterminate amount of time, and, for not the first time, Steve realises that he never really fell out of love with Tony. 

He’s beautiful. He’d always thought that he was attractive - even when they despised each other down to the quark, but he’d realised that he was, is, _beautiful_ when he’d fallen in love with him. Only that he’d thought he was beautiful long before he’d ever realised that he’s entirely and utterly head-over-heels for him.

He’d known he was attractive when they were too busy yelling and screaming at each other for them to see past their own noses, hell, he’d been told that Tony’d been _People’s_ ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ three years in a row by more than one person, and he got why. He could see how he was conventionally attractive.

He had the slicked-back hair and symmetrical face of a model, and he was pretty fit, a result the whole superhero-Iron-Man thing. He’d been attractive, pretty.

But that was completely different from finding him gorgeous, beautiful. He remembers one day, in the morning, a couple months after he’d moved into the Tower, Tony had stumbled into the kitchen, a, for lack of any other words, mess. 

He’d come back up from a 3-day bender in his workshop, a good quarter of his clothes - and eyebrows - singed off, his hair curling with grease with from motor oil and simply just not showering, his eyes were half-shut with sleepiness, but when he’d seen Steve he’d smiled blearing and stuck his hands out for coffee.

And Steve’d realised that he’s beautiful.

After that, he couldn’t, can’t, stop realising. Every morning, every movie night, long before he’d known that his pining wasn’t very subtle, he’d been entranced by Tony, how he talked, moved, looked - under lights, in his workshop, fighting. He’d never stopped, not after they’d gotten together, he’d never stopped loving him.

Not even when he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. 

Tony must have stopped at some point, and maybe it came back, but after all the things he’d done, he can’t expect it to be full-force, to be what they were. Tony’d told him as much, back before his engagement and his marriage, that he’d never be able to love him as he did before Siberia, that all he was good for was a good fuck.

He’s apologised for what he said - it wasn’t a good night for either of them, but the words stuck in Steve’s mind, it’s unfair of him to expect even a quarter of what they once had, and he’d take Tony in his life whatever way he could. Including no-strings-friends-with-benefits.

He loves him, undoubtedly, and he’s certain that he’s never going to stop loving him this much, he’ll give and give and give until he has nothing left and even then he’ll find something, anything. For Tony, he always could.

“Can you still come untouched just by giving head?” Tony asks, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip and leaning impossibly closer to Steve. Tony looks up at him through his eyelashes. _God, he’s breathtaking._

“We’re stuck in a closet in Camp Leigh in 1970, and you want to know if I can still come on just your cock?” Steve asks, he supposes that it was meant to be sarcastic, but it comes out far too fond for him to pretend that it was anything anywhere near that bitter. 

Steve’s okay with that, and, by the way Tony’s eyes darken infinitesimally, he’s fairly certain that he is, as well.

Tony hums in agreement, reaching out a hand to trail his fingers down Steve’s chest, he lingers for a beat just above his belly button, and then carries on down and across his hip. 

And then surprises Steve by taking his hand and winding their fingers together.

Tony recognises Steve’s surprise and chuckles softly, “I wanna do some of this right, for once,” he murmurs, leaning up, on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“We’re in a closet. In 1970,” Steve reiterates, a little dumbfounded, okay, a lot dumbfounded, because after all he’s done, he barely deserves anything done right for him.  
He’d thought the same thing when, before Tony’d gotten engaged to Pepper, they’d started their friends-with-benefits Thing, meeting up in random hotels long after the sun went down and leaving long before it came up. So had Tony.

He tightens his hold a little and brings Tony’s hand to his lips and kisses his fingers, “Let’s do it right.”

Tony smiles, bashfully, and ducks his head, “Yeah, okay, we have all the time in the world.”

“When we go back, when everything’s back to normal, we’re going to go on a proper date,” Steve proposes, smiling and hushed.

“Dancing,” Tony says, eyes sparkling, reminding him of the night they danced on top of the Tower, one dark, cold night in December, when they were younger, different people. 

Steve nods and winds his other hand through Tony’s hair and gently tilts his face up so he can kiss him. He tastes like the soda he had, just before they carried out the whole time-heist, but under that, something sweet, so, so _Tony_ that if he imagined hard enough, they could pretend that they were a decade back.

He could, very easily, but he doesn’t want to, he so, so done with living in the past, old hangup and the like - he’d been telling people to move on for the last four years, whilst completely ignoring the advice himself. It’s time to move forward, move on, they’re not in Tony’s workshop in Avengers’ Tower, and they’ll never really be there again. 

He’s okay with that, more than he thought he’d be.

He gently pushes his tongue in and sucks and bites on his bottom lip, and before long Tony’s making those tiny whimpering sounds. He breaks their hands apart and slides it around his waist, tugging him even closer.

They break apart, panting slightly, Steve’s lips are sinfully red, distractingly so. So much that Tony just has to kiss him again, slow and lingering, full of promise. When they pull apart this time, they’re pressed flush against each other.

“What do we do now?” Tony murmurs against Steve’s lips, leaning further into him so he can feel the line of Steve’s half-hard cock through his army-regulation trousers, he’s still so, so sensitive.

The combination of kissing Tony for the first time in years, him touching his dick, even through the damn khakis, makes him buffer a little, mentally.

Tony’s far prouder of that than he really should be, but he’s mostly gotten over calling what makes him happy ‘guilty pleasures’ a while ago. Steve’s dazed, his pupils are blown wide and it takes him a second to respond.

“You had a hypothesis, Doctor?” He says, finally, still a little breathless, hoping that it’d been somewhat smooth at least. He slides a hand back around to the front of Tony’s pants and presses down slightly with his palm.

Tony’s eyes darken ever so slightly and he gasps, “Yeah, we gotta, for science. Commander.”

He’s barely aware of what he’s saying, because Steve’s taken to pressing and biting kisses down his neck, and _God_ , it feels good.

Steve’s tongue flicks out against his pulse point and Tony hands fly up to grip his hair gently, not tugging, gasping again. He then bites down again and licks the mark to sooth it, making Tony groan. 

Steve still knows all of his sensitive spots, Tony realises, with laser point accuracy to boot, every single thing that makes him absolutely crazy, every sensitive point, all his preferences, Steve still knows it. Whether it’s muscle memory or eidetic memory, Tony’s not sure, but he’s definitely not complaining. 

Not when Steve gently bites his earlobe and then presses feather-light kisses behind his ear and down the column of his neck.

He can feel Steve smirking against his skin when he makes a tiny whine in the back of his throat, that he, for the record, had absolutely no control over, and then tugs his hair in retaliation. He smiles triumphantly when Steve groans, low and somewhat muffled.

He’s still smiling when Steve kisses back up and then presses their lips together, tongue taking and taking. _I really love him_ , he thinks faintly, pushing impossibly further into Steve’s chest.

He pulls away, nipping Tony’s bottom lip when he whines and tries to chase his mouth, and looks him in the eye, searching, asking a silent question, asking a million, asking for permission. They’re both breathing heavily, in sync, cheeks flushed and pupils wide. 

_He’s beautiful._

Tony leans up on his tiptoes to kiss Steve on his cheek and strokes back his hair, giving him the answers he wants, because he drops to his knees, there and then. The sight is almost enough to make him groan, loudly, but in a stroke of genius, he remembers, _oh shit, we’re in a supply closet in the 70s, on a damn army base._ And attempts to tamp it down, he mostly succeeds, if only but shoving his fist into his mouth. 

“When we get back I want to make love to you, properly, in a bed, if you’ll have me,” Steve says, in a rush, his breath fanning over the from of Tony’s slacks, because he’s well aware that Tony could regret all of this, letting him back into his life in this way.

“Yeah, yes please,” Tony says, slightly muffled by his fist, mind spinning with memories and ideas, all of Steve. 

In this moment, with Steve, on his knees, looking up at him like he hung his stars and moon in the night sky, Tony knows, deep inside, at his very core, that he’s not going to regret this. 

Steve’s smile turns into a grin, and Tony knows, instinctively, that he’s so, so gone for him. Steve then proceeds to tug down his zipper with teeth, mumbling promises of how he’ll be good to him.

Steve gets his pants halfway down his thighs and then mouths the head of his cock through his boxers, hot, wet tongue teasing him, drawing out tiny gasps.

“Don’t tease,” Tony breaths out, dropping his hand from his mouth and carding both of his hands through Steve’s hair, resting, not tugging.

Steve chuckles and nuzzles the crease between his crotch and his thigh and peppers kisses to it, “Can’t help it, Doctor,” he says, hushed, looking up at him through his lashes. A small smile, purposefully bashful and innocent, plays across his lips.

Tony knows exactly what he’s doing - before, early in their relationship, Tony had been so convinced that Steve was the blushing virgin everyone thought he was, when it turned out that hey, he was actually pretty experienced (to say the least), to say that Tony hadn’t lasted long would be an overstatement.

“Commander,” Tony says, lowly, in the sternest voice he could manage, and with Steve barely seconds away from sucking him and looking up at him like _that_. He supposes he was attempting ‘authoritative’, but Steve isn’t taking any of it, they were never anything even close to that.

Steve even gives him a little smirk, entirely throwing away Tony’s attempt at control, playing it exactly as they did way back, the way they’ve always done it. 

Steve inches down his boxers, letting Tony’s cock spring free, bright red and leaking. He curls his fingers around the base and licks the top, Tony whines, deep in his throat, and tries to thrust into Steve’s mouth, but he doesn’t let him, by pressing an arm across his hips, effectively pinning him against the door.

“You, Doctor, are going to come from this, quietly, because we’re on a army base in the 70s, and based on that SHIELD briefing, they didn’t take kindly to soldiers who liked to suck dick,” Steve says, low and rough.

Tony tightens his grip in Steve’s hair, enough to make him groan, trying to take back some of the control, “And you’re going to come untouched, for science,” he adds, tearing his eyes away from Steve for a moment to glance around the closest, searching for, and finding, a spare janitor’s overalls - if memory serves him right, and it always does with Steve and all matters concerning him, he’s not going to be able to wear those khakis after they’re done.

“For science,” Steve mumbles, before taking a deep breath and swallowing Tony down to the root, tongue working on the underside. He pulls out every single trick he can remember, everything that made Tony come hard and fast.

Tony cries out above him, just cut off when he tears a hand away from Steve’s hair to shove in his mouth. He tugs Steve’s hair with his other hand, mind spinning with pleasure when Steve groans around his cock.

Steve lets go of Tony’s hips to wrap his arms around his waist and sinks his fingers into Tony’s ass, moaning, and urges him to fuck his mouth, bobbing his head up and down.

Tony finally gets with the programme and stutters his hips forward hesitantly - he know, logically, that it’s going to take a lot more than a blowjob to hurt Steve, but he can’t help but think, _what if?_

Steve, sensing his hesitancy, even more enthusiastically bobs his head and massages his cock with his throat, swallowing and humming, he traces the vein on the underside with his tongue, slow and teasing, trying to rile him up. He completely ignores his own throbbing erection in favour of trying to get Tony to lose all control.

It works, because Tony lets go, really lets go, and fucks Steve’s pretty-pink mouth in ernest, guiding his head as he watches, transfixed, his cock disappearing into Steve’s mouth.

He’s not going to last long, not after all of today - Steve looks unfairly good in anything, but the commander get-up combined with him on his knees, it’s been too much since they entered the damn closet.

He wants to keep his eyes open, he can’t bear to miss this, but at the same time, it’s almost too much. His eyes fall shut as he loses himself in the wet heat of Steve’s mouth, still attempting to keep his moans muffled.

Steve loves making Tony come apart like this, he always seems so put together, even when he’s not, and to know that Tony trusts him enough to be like this - eyes screwed shut in pleasure, hair a mess, three seconds away from coming - when he’d thought before that he’d never get to see him like this again, it pulls up so, so many feeling he can barely process them.

Tony told him once that people only give blowjobs as a favour, but Steve didn’t - still doesn’t get that, he loves sucking cock, specifically Tony’s, he loves making him fall apart like this. The tugging on his hair and the heavy weight of a cock in his mouth, all the way down his throat, and the gorgeous sight above him, it’s pretty much enough to make him come.

He lets one hand drop off Tony’s ass and presses the heel of his palm to his erection, he’s so hard it’s just this side of painful. He can feel Tony tense up, about to come, speeding up his thrusts, and he holds still as he does, helping him ride it out and swallowing every drop. Steve follows not long after, wrapped up in white-hot pleasure.

When Tony comes to, when the bright spots fade, he realises that he’s slid down to floor and he’s leaning into Steve.

“Good?” Steve asks, voice raspy, and a little smug. How he looks this good after what he’s just done, Tony has no idea, his lips are puffy and bright red - a very specific and unmistakable red - he’s flushed and his hair is an absolute mess, all because of Tony. That thought makes his dick twitch a little, but he’s middle-aged now, and not a super-soldier, so that’s all it does.

Still, Tony laughs a little, “Fishing for compliments is beneath you, sweetheart,” the nickname slips out without meaning to, but Tony’s okay with it. He feels Steve tense up next to him, for a split-second, unnoticeable if it were anyone but Steve, but he relaxes when he realises that Tony doesn't try to take it back.

“Did you…” he’s about to finish his question but Steve takes his hand and guides it to the front of his trousers.

“Hypothesis confirmed,” he murmurs, leaning up to kiss him soundly on the lips, moaning a little when he can taste himself on Steve’s tongue.

“Repetition--” Steve’s about to say but he cuts himself off and tilts his head and flutters his eyes shut, listening.

“We have to get out of here,” he says, on the brink falling back into the ‘Cap’ mindset.

“Wait,” Tony says, before he loses all confidence, “I meant it, when I said that I wanted to do it right, if you don’t, tell me now, because I can’t- I can’t do all of that all over again, Steve.”

Steve takes Tony’s face in his hands and kisses him, short, sweet and full of promise, “I want to do right by you,” he whispers, and it’s the best, most romantic thing anyone’s ever told him, even if they’re on the floor of a dirty supply closet, and by every rule in existence, he should despise Steve Rogers.

He nods and lets his head fall on Steve’s shoulder and just breathes deeply for a beat, surrounded by Steve, his smell, his arms. They have so much more work to do, all of this, it’s a tiny side-quest of sorts, a small piece of a bigger puzzle, but it’s nice to take a  
break. 

They stay like that for what probably was only a couple minutes, but felt like lifetimes, before Tony raises his head and something passes between them, and they get to work.

Steve changes while Tony fiddles around with the lock and they wait until they can sneak out again.

“Any regrets, Doctor?” Steve asks, just to be sure, right before they go back to the future, he’s not sure when he’ll get another chance.

“None at all,” Tony says, smiling up at him, letting im believe, for the first time in a while, that they’re going to be okay.


	2. raincheck?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the sad and ignorable coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for major character death

Tony doesn’t know what's going to happen when, and it will be when, they bring everyone back, he knows that if he keeps what he has and brings back Pe- the kid, anything he’ll lose will be worth it, all of it, for them. 

They make it back, all of them, all of them, except Nat. They’re not the Avengers anymore, how can they be, when the only person keeping them together is gone, they’re angry and grieving, but they have to get everyone back.

Bruce, Hulk? Steve’s not really sure what to call him now, uses the gauntlet, it works, according to the damn birds outside. And then it all goes to hell.

Turns out he’s worthy. He knows _why_ \- before, almost a decade ago, he could move Mjolnir about half a centimetre, but he couldn’t actually pick her up, now, after coming clean to Tony, he can.

But it’s not enough.

Steve’s scared and he’s in pain. But he has something he hasn’t had for a while now - hope and faith in them, in himself and Tony, and what’s left of the Avengers. It has to go right, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if it doesn’t. 

_On your left._

Steve could lay down and cry, but he doesn’t, he fights, because that’s all he can do now, all he has to do.

He can’t let Tony die, that’s the only thing he’s sure of, he has a family, a daughter, for the world to take her father away from her would be cruel, for Tony to die, for him to not get the happy ending he deserves, hell, _needs_ would be cruel.

Steve knows that he’s expendable - there’s an entire queue of people ready and willing to take over the ‘Captain America’ mantle and if he goes, everyone he cares about has more people who care about them, no one will be alone or unsafe.

He watches the gauntlet pass hands, he watches Thanos destroy their chance of fixing the timelines, of getting rid of him, and he knows now, what he has to do.

“Tony, give it to me, trust me,” he says, he tries to scream but his vocal cords aren’t having it, he doesn’t know how Tony heard him, but he did.

“Tony, please,” he makes out, stretching out a hand. A flicker of doubt passes over Tony’s face before he throws it to him. He catches it and slips it on, power surging through him. Now or never.

He makes eye contact with Tony, for barely a second, but it feels like hours, he tries to tell him everything he won’t get to, he hopes to hell that he knows. He can see the fear in his eyes, underlaid with anger, and then love, pure and simple.

Steve smiles, small and private, the power from the gauntlet the only thing keeping him upright. And then he snaps.

It’s like Wakanda, five years ago, bright, deafening, but this time, they’ve won.

Steve doesn't really know what’s going on, but Thanos and his army are dust and Tony’s next to him.

“Raincheck on that date?” Steve whispers, hoarsely, but smiling, his vision’s going blurry, he can’t feel his right arm and all he can hear is Tony. 

“You’re a bastard, you know that? A sneaky, conniving bastard,” Tony says, thickly, placing a hand on Steve’s cheek and running his thumb over his cheekbone.

“You love me,” Steve whispers, mouths, really, he can’t taste the ash around them anymore, can’t smell the burning. He supposes he’s dying, he’s comforted by it, really, knowing now that Tony’s safe, that he’s done right by him, finally.

He’d imagined death so much it feels like a memory - before, in the 40s, it would be a good month if he wasn’t in hospital, during the war, who knew what was possible, what could happen, after the ice, he was in perfect health, no war, but it still didn’t leave him, after Siberia, living day-to-day, the shadow and threat of government above him - that was the closest to war he’d felt in the modern era - then after Thanos, he’d been surrounded by ghosts. 

But now, he greets death like an old friend, he will go, he knows it’s his time, finally, but he has to stay, just a little while longer.

“Yeah, I do,” Tony admits. “We won,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, reminiscent of the first time.

Steve attempts to smile, he can only focus on Tony’s eyes, bright with unshed tears, everything else is dark, unfocused.

Tony’s going now, as well, he can still feel him, hear him, he just can’t see him. He’s perfectly fine with the very last thing he’d ever see being Tony, ever since that day in Germany, he’d known, intrinsically, that he was important, and not just because he looked like Howard, because he had this unmistakable pull to him, one that made it obvious that he was the smartest person in the room, and yet, he had a way of talking that meant everyone could understand, but at the same time, if you didn’t pay attention, he would be at point Z when you’ve just reached A.

He feels Tony kissing his cheek and whispering ‘I still love you,’ and then nothing at all. 

His last thoughts are of Tony, happy, all disconnected, but of him, memories blurred together, bright, colourful, every thing that made him smile, so, so full of life and boundless energy. 

Steve Rogers falls into the dark, slips into death, thinking of the only person he’s ever known to be so far removed from it, the only person who could represent life, as stubborn and persistent in the face of all hell as it is, and as bright and incredible; Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading! comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <33


End file.
